“She hesitated.  Then she pulled a leaf off a bush, and said: 

“‘My name is Jessie,’ says she.

“‘Good-night, Miss Allyn,’ says I.

“The next morning at eleven, sharp, I rang the door-bell of that World’s Fair main building.  After about three-quarters of an hour an old nigger man about eighty showed up and asked what I wanted.  I gave him my business card, and said I wanted to see the colonel.  He showed me in.

“Say, did you ever crack open a wormy English walnut?  That’s what that house was like.  There wasn’t enough furniture in it to fill an eight-dollar flat.  Some old horsehair lounges and three-legged chairs and some framed ancestors on the walls were all that met the eye.  But when Colonel Allyn comes in, the place seemed to light up.  You could almost hear a band playing, and see a bunch of old-timers in wigs and white stockings dancing a quadrille.  It was the style of him, although he had on the same shabby clothes I saw him wear at the station.

“For about nine seconds he had me rattled, and I came mighty near getting cold feet and trying to sell him some plate-glass.  But I got my nerve back pretty quick.  He asked me to sit down, and I told him everything.  I told him how I followed his daughter from Cincinnati, and what I did it for, and all about my salary and prospects, and explained to him my little code of living—­to be always decent and right in your home town; and when you’re on the road, never take more than four glasses of beer a day or play higher than a twenty-five-cent limit.  At first I thought he was going to throw me out of the window, but I kept on talking.  Pretty soon I got a chance to tell him that story about the Western Congressman who had lost his pocket-book and the grass widow—­you remember that story.  Well, that got him to laughing, and I’ll bet that was the first laugh those ancestors and horsehair sofas had heard in many a day.

“We talked two hours.  I told him everything I knew; and then he began to ask questions, and I told him the rest.  All I asked of him was to give me a chance.  If I couldn’t make a hit with the little lady, I’d clear out, and not bother any more.  At last he says: 

“’There was a Sir Courtenay Pescud in the time of Charles I, if I remember rightly.’

“‘If there was,’ says I, ’he can’t claim kin with our bunch.  We’ve always lived in and around Pittsburgh.  I’ve got an uncle in the real-estate business, and one in trouble somewhere out in Kansas.  You can inquire about any of the rest of us from anybody in old Smoky Town, and get satisfactory replies.  Did you ever run across that story about the captain of the whaler who tried to make a sailor say his prayers?’ says I.

“‘It occurs to me that I have never been so fortunate,’ says the colonel.

“So I told it to him.  Laugh!  I was wishing to myself that he was a customer.  What a bill of glass I’d sell him!  And then he says: